Vengeance; hp universe

chapter the second: i have an identity crisis

the Potter Manor feels like it's trying to kill me. Logically, it's not, and it's not like the house is moving and trying to dunk me into the structure of it, but it's the entire vibe of what's happening to me. it probably didn't- after all, I was in the midst of an identity crisis and was with an extremely fragile mental state. But still, after my little breakdown in the library, every creak seemed like the floor was going to cave in and I'd get swallowed into the foundation of the manor, like any other intruder. 

I tried to wander the halls the next morning after the tea incident, but I didn't have enough in me to navigate it. I simply gotten turned around in the hallway and then sat on the floor and cried when I realized I was lost. 

The haze set in that first night, after the cottonmouth's hissing had temporarily subsided. Since then, things were hard. The st few days involved staying in the library, tucked in a reading nook where I couldn't see the portrait of Fleamont (and therefore, I had an allusion of safety), and I did a lot of crying. 

If it wasn't for Mipsy bringing by water, I probably would've died from dehydration by now. 

Who even am I? I wanted to scream, to yell at the portraits that adorned the halls, subjects nearly catatonic after so long without residents. How can I even live in this house? My father, my birth father, killed the last of the Potters. (I'm not one of them, I never was.)

I don't deserve to be here, to be in this library with its special edition books, to be fed by their house elves... It sinks like a weight on my chest, and I know I don't have anywhere else to go. The Rosier homes could be occupied at any moment, and I don't want them to know I exist. The Gaunts were too broke to have any properties but a metaphorical shack - if it even was still standing - and it's probably not a good idea to go anywhere my "father" might be, anyways. 

Yeah, I'm stuck at Potter Manor. Mipsy pops in and out, setting a tray of food down on a collapsable table she brought in a few days ago- how many was it now, three? I didn't know how long I'd spent in the library, which was a simultaneously frightening and satisfying thought. After all, maybe I could just rot in here forever. Mipsy's sudden departure left me with questions, like what the nice smelling food on the plate was. I walked closer, suddenly curious, and then ate slowly. I stared out the window at the grounds, which were simultaneously well kept, but also looked wild out there. I kind of wanted to explore, but the grounds would swallow me whole with no hesitation- it looked feral, and it definitely wouldn't hesitate. 

With the distraction, it was inevitable that I would cut my finger on the steak knife. I don't even notice immediately, a sure sign about reflexes and something or another... It's only when it stings after trying to continue to eat that I notice. I lift my finger up, the thumb in some twisted hand-yoga, and I watch as the blood pools up and then dribbles down my finger. 

I suddenly crave more- more blood soaking my hands, the laughs that come in a fight, going feral... 

I want to pick a fight. 

For the first time in a while, I finally move with a purpose. It should be worrying that violence is what starts to clear the haze, but I really don't care anymore. I'm not their little savior anyways, and I wonder just how much like my father can I be? 

I make my way down the halls, peering in rooms until I find one that looks like it'd been occupied back when people still lived in the manor. With a record player and a frankly impressive stack of vinyls, posters across the wall of different bands, I feel like I would've liked the inhabitant. I slide open the closet doors wiht a flourish and then grin when I see the clothes. Yeah, I definitely would've gotten along with them.